117 - Setenta y uno

Cielo, quédate, junto a mí.

116

Muchacha del otoño.
Poesía. Literatura. Cine. Filosofía. Música. Ciencia. Arte.
Horizonte.
Luna.
Lavanda.

115, AKA ¿Por qué Neil Gaiman odia el amor?

..."Then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of your life. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."

-Neil Gaiman